


What did you think you were doing?

by Gaslight Dreamer (wyntirrose)



Series: Medical Psychology [4]
Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: M/M, Rare Pairings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-15
Updated: 2015-12-15
Packaged: 2018-05-06 22:32:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5433221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wyntirrose/pseuds/Gaslight%20Dreamer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Smokescreen tries to distract Ratchet away from some damaged door wings and the creative interpretation of battlefield orders</p>
            </blockquote>





	What did you think you were doing?

"You want to tell me what you think it is you were doing out there today?" Ratchet demanded as the door slid shut behind him with a hiss.

Smokescreen had known that Ratchet would be in to see him, but he had been counting on a little more time. What with the damage the various mechs had sustained and Ratchet's refusal to leave the med bay before absolutely everyone had been either released or declared fully stable, Smokescreen had calculated that he had at least another hour before he was visited by an enraged medic.

"Oh, hey there, Ratch!" Smokescreen said brightly as he swept the dampener stick into a drawer.

"Don't 'oh hey there' me, Smokescreen," Ratchet snapped as he stalked toward the psychologist. "I want to know _exactly_ what it is you thought you were doing out there!"

"Following orders?" Smokescreen replied with a slight shrug of his doors and wincing a little as a burr caught in the left hinge.

"Smelter slag!" Ratchet snapped. He grabbed Smokescreen and spun him around roughly, immediately examining the door hinges. "I heard all of Prowl's orders and going into the thick of a Combiner fist fight was _not_ one of them!"

"The Protectobots needed a distraction if they were going to- _Ow_!" Smokescreen cut off with a sharp cry as Ratchet shifted the left door and locked it back in its proper place.

"Stop complaining," Ratchet grumbled, but there was less heat in his tone. "It didn't hurt that much and it needed to be fixed. Why in the Pit you didn't come to medical with this, I will never understand."

"It's a minor problem. Easily fixed. And I didn't want to bother any of you. I mean, you all seemed so busy when I stopped by," Smokescreen replied calmly, refusing to get feed Ratchet's irritation. It didn't work.

"And I suppose that that was when you decided to steal a dampener?" Ratchet asked as he rubbed some nanite gel into the joints.

"Seriously," Smokescreen said as he was turned to face Ratchet, "It's minor damage. More an annoyance than anything else. It was pretty illogical to bother you all with something this small.”

Ratchet ran one hand over Smokescreen’s frame gently as he checked him over for any other injuries.

“Since when have you thought logically?” he asked.

Smokescreen took hold of Ratchet’s hand and kissed the back of it gently. “I know I hide it well, but I am still a Praxian,” he said with a small smile.

“You’re an _idiot_ Praxian is what you are,” Ratchet grumbled. “You could have gotten yourself deactivated out there.”

“I had it all under control,” Smokescreen said with a smile. “Everything was calculated and plotted out and planned to within microns.”

With that assurance he licked the tip of Ratchet’s index finger, intent on distracting the medic. Unfortunately he had forgotten about the nanite gel and immediately pulled back with a disgusted look as his lips and glossa began to tingle and numb.

Ratchet chuckled and shook his head slightly. “That’s what you get for trying to distract me, kiddo.” 

He pulled a small cube of clear green liquid and handed it to Smokescreen. 

“Drink this,” he ordered. “It’ll counteract the nanites and stop the tingling.”

“Thankth,” Smokescreen replied sheepishly before drinking the proffered cube and pulling another face. “Why is it that the liquid meds always taste so awful? This stuff reminds me of gasoline mixed with super sweet antifreeze.”

“Close. It’s bioethanol and antifreeze,” Ratchet replied. “And don’t complain. I could have left you with a numb glossa as punishment for being an idiot.”

His words were harsh, but they didn’t carry into the gentle tone or his actions as he pulled Smokescreen close and rested his cheek on the top of the Praxian’s head.

“You’d miss my glossa if you did that,” Smokescreen replied mischievously, as he snuggled into Ratchet, running his fingers up the medic’s sides in a slow caress. “How soon do you need to get back to medical?”

“I need to go back and check Swoop’s work on Snarl’s solar panels, and I want to be sure that Jack knows _exactly_ how angry I am at him for that stunt he pulled with Soundwave today,” Ratchet replied. “So I need to go soon, but I can be back in about an hour or so. Did you send in your report to Prowl?”

Smokescreen’s doors fluttered slightly in a move Ratchet had learned was a negative - almost the equivalent of him shaking his head. “Trailbreaker, Skydive, and I still need to meet with him to go over a breakdown of how we failed to follow his orders. That’ll take at least an hour. Maybe we can get some dinner later? My treat?”

Ratchet pulled away, holding Smokescreen at arm’s length.

“Your treat?” he asked, chevron arched slightly in disbelief. “Care to explain, given that we’re still on rations?”

Smokescreen smiled slightly. It was a crooked little twitch of his lips that never meant anything good.

“I might have gotten my hot little hands on some engex that I’ve been dying to break into,” he said. “I’ll ping you when Prowl’s done dressing us down and you and I can forget about the day. What’d ya say?”

“I say that it’s a really bad idea. Remember that talk we had about energon poisoning?” Ratchet replied. “I have a feeling I know where you got the engex, and trusting it is probably going to be a huge mistake.”

“Could be,” Smokescreen replied in a soft seductive purr. “Or it could be a whole lot of fun. Won’t know until we try.”

Once he was close to Ratchet, Smokescreen ran his hand down the medic’s chest and abdomen, before finally stopping at his port cover.

“Or, I could find other, more interesting ways to destress you. After all, I am full of all sorts of wonderful talents.”

Ratchet shivered slightly at the tone and the feeling of the fingers tracing their way over the edges of his panel, a panel that was growing almost uncomfortably warm. He cleared his vocalizer slightly and stepped just out of reach.

“I have work to finish up and so do you,” Ratchet said, the slightest burr of static lacing through his words.

Smokescreen’s lips came together in a slight moue of disappointment, but his optics were practically twinkling with amusement.

“One hour,” Ratchet said before Smokescreen could say anything. “One hour, dinner, and then we’ll see. I make no promises.”

Smokescreen smiled and swept past Ratchet, his hips and doors doing that seductive little sway that he excelled at. “One hour, Ratchet. I’m going to keep you to that. I’m going to go see what I can do to talk some sunshine into Prowl’s outlook and then I’ll meet you in medical to drag you off for some fuel.”

Ratchet dragged his optics away from Smokescreen’s aft. Damn this particular Praxian and his full understanding of what he could do with a little body language and sashay.

“One hour,” he replied.

“I’m holding you to it. I’ve set my timer and everything,” Smokescreen promised with a laugh as he hurried away from his office and toward Prowl’s.

“And then we can discuss what it was that you thought you were doing out there today,” Ratchet called back, chuckling at the slight dipping of Smokescreen’s doors.


End file.
